


Blindfold and Alone

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Betrayal, Drama, Ex Sex, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-10
Updated: 2004-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reunion at Hogwarts, set during <i>Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindfold and Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carrot](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Carrot).



_ ELEGY FOR A MAN SHOT FOR COWARDICE _

_I could not look on Death, which being known,  
Men led me to him, blindfold and alone._  
-Rudyard Kipling

Igor turned up at his door on the stroke of midnight. Predictable. Severus had known better than to retire, sitting up in his nightclothes and turning the pages of a book as he watched the clock.

He barely jumped when three brisk raps rang out.

One, two, three—three months past Christmas, and a handful of hours since the disgraceful display in his own classroom, in front of Potter no less. He'd known it had to come to a head.

He marked his page and laid the book aside, rising on stiff knees that cracked under the pressure. Scowling, he belted his dressing gown and stalked over to the door, peering through the peephole to make sure there were no surprises. He opened the door less than a hand's breadth wide, keeping his body behind it as he carefully schooled his expression.

"Yes?" he inquired politely.

"I won't let you put me off this time, Severus." Igor's breath reeked of spirits, his face flushed.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, with a touch of ice in his voice, drawing himself up as he ushered Igor inside.

His eyes lingered. Still, after all these months, he'd yet to get accustomed to seeing Igor Karkaroff in the halls of Hogwarts. It pleased him to note, however, that tonight Igor seemed just as uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"They do not give you better rooms than this?" Igor was turning around slowly, carefully taking everything in.

Severus allowed himself a small, careful smirk. "I do hope you haven't come all this way just to insult my quarters."

Igor stilled. Turned. His eyes seemed to glitter in the waxen lamplight. "No."

"Then what have you come for?"

The smile, he expected. That Karkaroff smile, dripping with charm and lies. "To speak with you..."

But the drunken glint in Igor's eyes, that was what made the anger well up in him.

"...to see you."

"It's past midnight."

"You were waiting up."

Severus felt those eyes travel down his body. "Fuck you, Igor," he said quietly.

Igor mimed being hexed in the heart, then sat down on the chesterfield and picked up the copy of _Keene's Magicae Artes Comprehensus_ Severus had been reading, turning it over in his hands.

"Ponderous reading for such a late hour, no?"

Severus shrugged, pretending he didn't command Igor's attention as he sat down in the chair opposite. He carefully did not look down at himself, but for the first time in a long while, he was aware of how little care he took with himself these days, falling into old habits of living inside his mind.

"You're looking well," Igor said softly.

He sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "Please don't start with me, Igor. Yes, I know perfectly well that whatever that pelt is you're wearing cost a king's ransom, which is precisely what they pay you in the frozen north. Don't play with me."

Igor blinked, seemingly taken aback. "I was not."

Severus dropped his hand and leaned forward, eyes alert, searching his face. There was a time when he could spot a lie more easily than this.

"What do you want?" he finally asked. "You know full well Dumbledore might get ideas if he saw us talking—not that there's anything that needs to be said."

"There is—"

"Not here." Severus very deliberately pulled his sleeve down.

"Then where—when? You make me chase you hither dither through your little castle, and when I catch you, you turn me away! I deserve an answer."

Severus silenced him with a glare. "I owe you nothing."

Igor fell silent. Severus could see the cogs turning like Swiss clockwork in his head. He was wondering if Severus knew that he had turned on him during the trials; wondering if it mattered; wondering if Severus would have done the same.

He would have. He still would.

Igor shivered, setting the book down. "There's a draught in here, yes? They should give you better rooms."

Severus leaned forward, opening his mouth.

"Yes, I know—'fuck me,'" Igor said, his accent making something crisp and brittle of the words. "Do your little boys and girls know about your ungentlemanly mouth?"

"My students are not so foolishly sheltered as yours."

Igor clucked his tongue. "Touchy, Severus. I wonder why?"

Severus lunged out of the chair, hot with rage. Bastard—he had seen the way Igor looked at that Krum boy, could read them both as plain as day, but at least he'd had the discretion to turn a blind eye!

Igor's eyes widened, and he deftly leapt up, hopping over the ottoman and out of harm's way in one smooth movement, with an elegance few could have managed. He had the decency to look guilty as he raised his hands.

"My apologies, Severus." He seemed to hesitate then. "It...has been a long time for us."

It had. But, unfortunately, not long enough that Severus could hold on to his anger in the face of Igor's beseeching eyes. "I'm putting on some tea," he snapped. "You'll be gone by the time I'm done, if you know what's good for you."

He stalked off to the kitchen, letting out a shuddery sigh as soon as he was out of sight. He slammed the teapot onto the counter and tapped the kettle to heat it up. His hands curled into white-knuckled fists. This was the way it had always been, hadn't it. Hot-blooded passion and shame. Bloody shame, as though the years between were only minutes and he hadn't moved on at all.

He scowled at the quiet footsteps echoing his own. Grimly refusing to turn around, he took the kettle off the boil as it began to whistle and reached for the jar of tealeaves.

Warm hands slid onto his shoulders. They felt exactly the same as he remembered: sensual and surprisingly strong. They held him fast. Some things never changed.

"Stop it, Igor," he hissed, making a vain attempt to shrug him off.

He was held painfully tight for a moment, and then—down his back and up again—found himself rubbed with an expertise that was almost hypnotic. He gripped the countertop as the firm massage slowly drifted along his sides, into the dip of his lower back, and further down.

"I'll kill you." The words slipped out on a gasp as his backside was firmly squeezed.

Igor pressed against him, driving his stomach forcefully into the edge of the counter.

"No, you will not," whispered a memory, hot breath tickling his ear. "You will not, and you know it."

The hands slid slowly up again, gathering up his nightshirt until the hem brushed his calves, his knees, his thighs. Then they were against his naked skin, gently but firmly urging him to spread his legs.

Then, there, where he was already shamefully hardening. Rubbing roughly until Severus made a noise halfway between a groan and a sob, dropping the jar onto the counter with a clatter.

"Please..." He bit his tongue too late.

Igor's hand faltered, and Severus reflected that once that plea might have been a sound of pure pleasure. It was tortured now, desire and hate twining together like murderous snakes.

Just a moment of hesitation, and then the hand squeezed.

"Tell me, Severus..." He felt the rub of velvet robes against his bare skin, the hard bulge straining beneath. "...tell me to leave you, and I'll leave you."

Severus gasped as he was stroked with distracting skill, knees nearly buckling, and he sobbed outright. But he didn't say a word.

"You haven't forgotten after all," Igor whispered smugly, brushing his lips over the crook of Severus's neck. "And you didn't hate it all..."

"I did hate it," Severus ground out, even as his hips began to move in rhythm with Igor's hand. "I hated you."

"Foolish," Igor whispered, hand moving faster now, inarguable. "You hated what we did—never what we had."

"You made me...you...Merlin...you made me a murderer, Igor..." He wrenched himself out of Igor's grasp with a shudder, pushing him away and yanking down his nightshirt. He was breathing raggedly, flushed with heat. "I trusted you."

He took some satisfaction in the way Igor's face twisted in the moment before those pale eyes met his own. "You were a fool, then. And so was I."

"You should have known better."

Igor looked down at his hands, then artfully licked a tiny slick smear from his thumb. "Perhaps."

One minute and thirty seconds later, Severus found himself on his back in bed with his nightshirt rucked up and Igor kneeling between his legs.

"I hate you," he whispered, gasping again as Igor took hold of him.

"You wound me, Severus."

Searching his face, Severus might have believed it.

"For Merlin's sake, Igor..." he began, but he lost his voice as a warm mouth closed around him, sliding slickly down. After that it was difficult enough just to breathe.

He cursed quietly, moaning as a hot tongue flickered over him. His body, scenting a feast after so long a famine, began shamelessly begging—hips pumping into that blissful, greedy mouth, unable to stop himself and not entirely certain he wanted to.

His fingers curled in Igor's hair as he was dragged roughshod almost to the edge, and then he pushed him away at the last moment, refusing to give the old bastard the satisfaction. He tugged at Igor's collar, shivering at the feel of impossibly silky fur beneath his fingers.

The robes came off, and Severus peered closely at him. Igor's body had aged, dried up and curled in on itself like a dying leaf. It was no different from his own, really, but he sat up to softly trace remembered pathways, following the contours of ghostly muscle. Then he shivered as Igor pressed him back into the bed, a hand at his throat exerting gentle but inescapable pressure.

"He will find you," Igor murmured. "He will make killing you seem a mercy."

"I know," Severus breathed, pushing up into Igor's hand. A surge of desire washed over him then, and he closed his eyes as Igor lay down atop him, moaning as they pressed together.

He heard the grating of the drawer, colouring as Igor found what he must have known he'd find. Then, for several sweet minutes, the only thing he was aware of was the sensation of ruthless fingertips opening him up, rubbing, nudging inside and almost ruining him in the process.

The hand at his throat tightened, choking him deliciously until blue stars burst across his vision, and he could do nothing but shake as Igor's fingers thrust in roughly to the knuckle. He drew his legs up, pushing against them, dizzy enough for a moment to imagine that they were back at Igor's London townhouse, up in that fussy old bedroom in the middle of the hot afternoon...

Then Igor was between his legs, where no one had been since, favouring him with wild eyes.

"I hate you..."

"I know," Igor said with a smile, an instant before Severus felt it push into him, slick and so bloody hard.

It pushed, and he pushed back, crying out through clenched teeth as he was split open. The sensation was everything he'd been missing, that trembling, tremulous pain. He quivered like a virgin as Igor took him hard, no pretence of care or mercy, only his own hands gripping the headboard as the sweet agony tore through him.

He didn't fight. He let himself be taken, giving himself up to the ecstasy of it, whimpering when a cruel hand closed around his cock, making him push back even harder against the pounding heat inside him.

"Bastard," he hissed, wrapping his legs around Igor's waist as their mingled breathing turned to panting and the thrusts came faster and faster. The hand around him sped up in kind, squeezing, and Severus's whimpers became strangled moans as the pleasure clawed its way out.

He only dimly heard Igor's low cry as he arched, spilling over in a hot rush, over and over for what seemed like forever, like fifteen years, until Igor fell hard on top of him.

Then, silence, under the sound of each of them trying to catch his breath. His eyes closed for a moment; he could feel Igor's hollow heartbeat thudding against his chest. Then he opened them again, looking up in resigned expectation of smugness.

But there was only desperation there—desperation that made Severus more afraid than anything that had passed before.

"Come away with me." Igor's voice was nearly pleading, his arms coming tight around him. "We could go anywhere...anywhere but this godforsaken place. Come with me."

Severus shook his head slowly. "No."

'Coward,' he thought.

And when he finally dared look into Igor's eyes, he saw the same reflected back.


End file.
